The other letter was directed to her in a handwriting she did not recognize, and she prepared to read it while she was waiting for her breakfast to be served. To her immense relief, Peter Stoger was still absent. She had had the horrible suspicion that he might be there once again to spy on her, perhaps even to be the instrument of the threatened "danger."
While waiting for her cantaloupe she opened the second missive and read it through in startled wonder. It was written in pencil and marked midnight of the night before. It was inscribed also with a fine disregard of spelling, punctuation, and grammar, was only a few sentences long, and signed at the end, "C. J." It ran as follows:
Deer Miss,
I done a heap of scooting around last night on my moter-cicle and I found out quite a bit you will be intrested to no. If you are intrested will you please try to be at the sea wall in the park where you usully like to sit about nine this a m an we can talk it over. will wate for you their.
Yours respeckfully,
C. J.
"Bless that kind boy's heart!" thought Patricia. "He certainly is a trump! I don't know what on earth I'd be doing now if it weren't for his help. I'll be there without fail."
Promptly at nine she was at the tryst by the sea-wall, a bench shaded by an overhanging tree where she frequently came with her book or sewing to enjoy the beautiful view out over the water and the invigorating salt air. Chet was there before her, sitting unostentatiously with his legs hanging over the sea-wall, apparently absorbed in the occupation of fishing with a rod and reel.
"Hullo! Good morning!" he greeted her, with his usual infectious grin. "Catch any Hun spies lurkin' around last night?"
"No indeed!" she answered him quite gaily. "I didn't see one—not a single one."